The French Job
by Lune-Solei
Summary: When Eliot and Parker are stuck in a hotel with no air conditioning, Parker learns why hair shouldn't be that close to fans and Eliot learns why she isn't that fond of ponytails. Eliot/Parker.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Leverage_. I'm only borrowing it for a bit.

**Rating:** PG

**Warnings:** One or two curse words. Also, first _Leverage_ fanfic by me.

**Pairing:** Eliot/Parker

**Author's Note:** I have been addicted to _Leverage_ since _The Homecoming Job_ (sadly I missed _The Nigerian Job_). This occured to me one day and I just _had_ to write it. Please let me know what you think and if the characters seem OOC or not.

* * *

"How long you think we have to wait?" Eliot looked up to see her stretched out on the floor. She had her hair held up in one hand, keeping it off her neck. The other hand was slowly moving the small portable fan along the exposed skin. "Aren't they done yet?"

"_Not quite_," Hardison's voice chirped in their ears. "_Hang in there_."

"Easy for him to say," Eliot grumbled. He stretched out on the worn sofa, trying to find a spot that _wasn't_ in the sun. Impossible. "He's not stuck in a hotel room in the middle of a southern summer with no damn air conditioning." She nodded absently and a few strands slipped through her fingers. They were the back-up, unneeded at the moment. "You're gonna get your hair all tangled in the blades," he warned.

"Just like bubblegum," she murmured. He wasn't sure what her tone meant. "You cut it out after." She set the fan down though, picking up a rubber band and knotting her hair into a ponytail. The click of the fan coming to life echoed in the stagnant air of the room. There was a click, then a whir, then static. "The cable's out," she added. Another click and the television was off again.

The air was humid and hot. They couldn't open any of the windows (even if they weren't stuck shut with grime) because Nate thought it could lead undue attention to them. Well, when they died of heat exhaustion Eliot wished that he could see all the _undue_ attention _that_ garnered. He muttered under his breath and Parker glanced at him warily from where she was seated.

"_Uh, guys bit of a problem. Sophie and Nate…it could be awhile._"

"What's a plan without a glitch?" Eliot grumbled.

Parker made another small noise and shifted on the floor. All of a sudden she yelped and he whirled, already bracing himself for whatever threat had managed to sneak in (though he couldn't see how). He cracked a smile though when he saw her tugging futilely at the fan which was now tangled in her hair. He could still hear the whirring and rolled his eyes.

"Told you."

"Help," she whined. She had a pained look on her face, tugging at the plastic contraption.

"Turn it off first Darlin'," he drawled. She glared but pressed the button as he got off the sofa and moved to sit next to her. "It's stuck," he muttered after a few moments of examination.

"Duh." She shifted irritably in front of him.

"Quit squirmin'," he grumbled. She tried to turn to glare but he tugged at the trapped hair and she whimpered. "Why don't you ever tie your hair up?"

"I use ponytails," she protested. "When I'm on a mission. But I don't like them; it's just like having loose hair only without it being loose."

"Right." He rolled his eyes because she couldn't see. Idly he wondered if Parker would _ever_ truly make sense. He was torn between hoping she would and dreading the occurrence. "What about braids?"

"…Braids?" she asked. "Like Heidi?"

"Or just a regular braid," he muttered. She winced as he tugged on a strand. "Sorry."

"I don't know how you grew up in this heat," she mumbled. "It's too…hot. I think I'm melting and it would have made any job completely impractical." He makes a humming sound in agreement. "I do twists too. And buns – remember when I was in Belgrade as the waitress? I just…ow."

"You get used to it." He continued to pry apart the strands. "Braids are good," he said after a few moments. He made his voice softer, like when he was younger and trying to calm one of the horses. "Better than ponytails since they keep the hair gathered."

"_Are you seriously talking _hair care_? I'm trying to hack a system and I'm hearing you two talking hair in my head!_"

"Shut-up Hardison," Eliot growled. Parker smiled and hummed.

"Guess you would know that." He tugged her hair harder to remove the smirk he knew was on her face. "Buns do that too. And twists," she added as an afterthought. Her fingers reach to feel his progress and he slaps them away. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Do you _want_ me to chop it off?"

"Well, not chop. Cutting's fine. You _cut_ hair Eliot; you don't chop it like a carrot." She closed her eyes, feeling him working each strand loose. The heat was stifling, oppressive and disgusting. She was reminded of their time in Texas and she sighed. She _hated_ the heat. "You should know that, you work with knives."

"Right." He shook his head. There was a fly crawling across the coffee table in front of them. He watched it for a moment before returning his attention to her hair. Over…under…over. He paused to wipe the sweat from her neck and she relaxed a little.

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing your hair Darlin'," he replied. "Just like you asked me to." She mumbled under her breath but he didn't bother to ask what she was saying. He had learned early on that it was better _not_ to ask. "How's it coming Hardison?"

"_How's it coming Hardison? Oh sure, just expect me to be able to whip in and zap! It's all taken care of. You're just as bad as Nate. You know, not everything is that easy Mr. I-just-learned-_Photoshop_-of-all-things…Why don't you just keep talking hair and recipes and distract me, yeah?"_

"I think he's mad."

"You _think_?" Eliot muttered. He rubbed his left ear and glared at the fly as it took flight, aiming for the window. "No more fans Parker," he added.

"It's _hot_," she whined. "It's hotter than _Texas_."

"Welcome to South Carolina," he joked. He frowned, tugging at her hair and she hit his leg. "Ow, what was that for?"

"You're pulling."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, he was extremely happy no one could see him at the moment, as he stared at the back of her head. "_You're_ the one with tangles in your hair." She shrugged and he tugged her hair again, making sure to shift out of reach before she could hit him once more. He knew she could be violent when she wanted to be. "I'm almost done," he promised.

"Should have cut it," she grumbled. She slouched, arms crossed over her chest.

"Should have had it tied back," he retorted. She hit him with the remote control that had been sitting on the coffee table. It clattered to the ground, the battery casing snapping off. They both watched the batteries roll across the worn carpet and under the TV stand. "If I get a bruise…"

"You deserve it."

Eliot mumbled under his breath as he gathered the ends of her hair together. He pulled the rubber band around his wrist off and continued to grumble. She was slouching again; he could almost imagine her expression. With another mutter he tied the rubber band around her hair so that it would keep the strands out of her face.

"Here," he grumbled. He picked the blue fan up off the floor and handed it to her before standing. "I'm all done."

"Finally!" she sighed. She jumped to her feet and turned to face him. He watched as she frowned in confusion. Her hands went to her hair, fingers feeling the braid running from the crown of her head past her shoulders. "You _Frenched_ my hair!" she exclaimed loudly.

"_Uh, guys, do I even _want_ to know…_?"

He laughed, tugging at the end and grinning at her shocked expression. "What can I say Darlin', I was bored. I couldn't help myself…" He gave her hair another tug before turning to the sofa again.

"Fine, then I'm giving you _two_ braids!"

"Gonna French me back?" he teased. His eyes glittered as he laughed at her silently. She frowned at him.

"You bet." She climbed onto the arm of the sofa. He rolled his eyes but shifted so that she could properly position herself. The smell of jasmine increased as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "But I only do one kind of Frenching," she warned, "and it doesn't involve braids."


End file.
